


Rooftops

by gokkyun



Series: Do You Don't You [1]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gokkyun/pseuds/gokkyun
Summary: Wrench has issues. Marcus doesn't have solutions. No immediate ones, that is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the FBI/Unmasked Wrench mission. 
> 
> Back to university + being sick + being awake at night = a lot of time to write fanfics. hehe xd  
> Only proofread once and very sloppily while watching Netflix so any mistakes pointed out would be appreciated. Also LOTS and LOTS of swearing. Enjoy, comments and critique and stuff appreciated! (Might continue this in a series, not sure though)

A lot of things can happen at night, all of different kind. Some of these things are strange, some dangerous, some risky and some just outright foolish. What Marcus Holloway did just a few hours ago was all of them at once. Namely getting back a weird mask from none other than the FBI. A mask that displayed a number of even weirder emoticons - and all for the sole reason of it being Marcus' friend's - best friend's - one thing he can't go without. So Marcus sneaked into the FBI's base of operations, disrupted the electricity as well as one or two too many cell phones, punched whoever was guarding said mask in the face, grabbed it as well as some of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's dirty little secrets and got the hell out of there. 

And now? Now he's found his best friend, Wrench, finally, and hands him the mask, tells him that he's sorry the other had to go through all that shit. Marcus still doesn't see the other's face, not completely at least. Just his profile, mostly hidden away by the feigned security of his hood. Only the hint of a distinct nose is visible, as well as small lips, teeth chewing on them with what Marcus identifies as worry and insecurity. 

"You know all that shit that Dusan said?" Wrench suddenly asks, organic voice, all shaky. It's the first time Marcus hears the other's voice without synthesizer, without an FBI camera distorting his voice. A shiver, small and meaningless, or at least that's what Marcus tells himself, makes its way over Marcus forearm. He blames it on the early morning's mild cold and not ever on the fact that his friend's voice is this light, almost tender, and oh so fragile. Marcus is taken back into reality as Wrench, who is shaking his head at the ground in disbelief, continues. "I would never turn on you." 

It doesn't take Marcus more than a second, a mere heartbeat, to find the right words. He tells Wrench that Dusan is only trying to tear them apart with his bullshit. And that he won't let it happen. He gestures with his hand but he's sure Wrench can't see it, still fixated on the ground while chewing on his lips absentminded. Marcus then tells him that they need _each other_. And those tiny little words make Marcus doubt for a second there if he's talking about DedSec or about the two of them sitting there, at six in the morning, on the ridiculously pretty rooftop of a parking lot. Tree branches are moving in the wind all around them and it all seems surreal enough for Marcus to get lost in his own thoughts yet again. Because in a way that Marcus still can't get a grasp on, Wrench is not only his best friend but probably the best thing he's ever had. The support they give each other is almost as extraordinary as Wrench himself. It comes with fistbumps and fanboying over Jimmy Siska, with watching and talking about movies no matter of what genre and age, even going far enough to imitate some of them, with creating stupid hero names for each other, with nightly visits to rooftops, with too much fast food and other things that Marcus would've never done with anyone else. Or even by himself. And all of these things have at least one fact in common; they show just how much they care about each other. Or at least that's what Marcus believes.

And somehow the words, "We can't do this without each other", seem to have stirred something awake in Wrench as well. For the first time he turns to Marcus, face visible even with the hood on. The familiar dirty blond hair strands are there but everything else is new and Marcus takes it all in. He has seen the burn on the other's face when he spied on the FBI interrogation, but it looks even more severe up close. A tingle settles in Marcus' fingers, a tingle that tells him he wants to touch that burn and ask Wrench how the hell it happened but he doesn't. Not now at least, because of decency and because there's so much more to take in. Like those eyes that have shadows and bags under them, intense but not intense enough to take away the captivating shade of blue and green irides.

Marcus' eyes want to observe the other man more, want to take in what is usually hidden behind a mask and crude jokes but Wrench is quick to avert his gaze once more. Slender fingers put the precious mask back in its rightful place and Marcus watches it calibrate, flickering through a couple of emoticons before the two usual Xs reappear. "We won't," Wrench distorted voice says and he looks at Marcus, two carets on his goggles. "Thanks, Marcus." They fistbump, one of the many things that had become a natural habit of theirs. Marcus is about to get up, leave this place and the potentially last time he'd ever see Wrench's face behind before he feels a cold hand grasping his wrist, pulling him back down to his seat. "Can we stay ... a while longer? My feet kinda fell the fuck asleep."

"How the hell? How long have you been up here?" Marcus chuckles. 

Wrench shrugs, two question marks appearing on his mask. "Dunno. Six hours. Maybe more, maybe less. Kinda lost track. How the shit did you even know I was up here of all fuckin' places?" 

"I coulda just asked Sitara for your phone's location but then I remembered when we had those spicy ass jalapeño cheeseburgers up here. Somewhere in between eating them 'n making fun of you for almost choking on yours, you said you come here often. Looking at the skyline 'n shit. But, Wrench, man, why the fuck would you stay here for six freakin' hours? At night no less."

For whatever reason Wrench doesn't seem to have expected the question even though it's a quite obvious one, especially considering the circumstances. For once the mask is blank, almost as blank as the stare of Wrench's real eyes earlier. After a while two at signs appear on the mask. "It's uh, complicated. Very fucking complicated," Wrench begins. One of his index-fingers points at the mask for a second there before he continues. "It might sound stupid but-" a deep breath follows and Wrench's voice gets heavier, even through the synthesizer. "This? This mask? This is kinda ... my face. Or at least I'd like to think of it as just that. And I can't just walk around for six hours without, y'know, my face. And as you might've figured out already I did some stupid shit in the past, shit even I ain't proud of. I try to forget it but some things remind me of it. Like my face. The real one," Wrench explains, one of his tattooed hands moving to the left side of his forehead. "And of course this fucking burn. Added to that is the fact that I've got what my parents and some shitty doctors called debilitating shyness. Which is complete and utter bullshit. The fact was just that I - was _never_ nice to look at to begin with, I've gotten to know that quickly. So of course I hate talking to people with my real face on open display or just have them look at me. I look weird and even more so with a mile-wide fucking burn on my forehead. So of course I had to do something to avoid people seeing my actual face and," Wrench puts his open hands next to the mask which switches to the two usual Xs, "Voila! Self-loathing with a pinch of more self-loathing and a few insecurities, hidden beneath layers of whichever materials I saw fit!" Wrench takes another breath, wanting to say something more but seemingly swallowing it. Two exclamation marks appear on his face, on his mask. "Sorry 'bout that, I kinda talked too fuckin' much there. Had an outburst. One of many. But it's just - I haven't really told anyone."

"All good man," Marcus assures, a lopsided smile gracing his features. "I kinda get it though. At least a teeny bit. Of course you attract a lot of attention with, well, your tattoos, your get-up, but your face? Dude, I haven't seen your face - the real one - for long but I don't think you ain't nice to look at. Rather the opposite." 

It's not hard to notice the way Wrench's fingers suddenly dig into his seat then, although Marcus wonders for whatever reason he does it. "You wanna see it for yourself? Again, right now, I mean. Sitara probably has the recordings of that fucking interrogation saved anyways." 

The offer brings a pang of guilt as well as an odd sensation into Marcus' stomach. It would push his own luck over the edge asking his friend to take off the beloved mask - **again**. And for the sole purpose just so Marcus could get another glimpse onto Wrench's face. But the guilt slowly ebbs away when the feeling still lingering in Marcus' fingertips grows stronger, the feeling of wanting to touch Wrench's scar, Wrench's face. "I'd like to see it again," he admits, his voice unusually rueful. "Only if you don't mind of course." 

"Oh fuck do I mind," Wrench snarls, his pale hands moving towards the mask nevertheless, slowly taking it off. "With other people at least. But with you? I don't know, it's different," he goes on, with his real voice, organic and unaltered. Both of Wrench's hands hold onto the mask then, hold onto it as if his dear life depended on it. His gaze is pinned to the ground once again, body all tense. But after an audible swallow he turns his head, turns it to look at Marcus.

The look, no, the deadpan stare Wrench gives Marcus is still emotionless and somewhat intimidated while his almost small mouth is a flat line, straight white teeth occasionally showing up to bite into his lower lip. Those dark shadows under Wrench's eyes are bleak, even more so due to the pale and smooth skin around them. Except, of course, for the burn mark. This time it's Marcus who gestures to the left side of his own forehead. "If you ask me, it looks pretty fucking dope," he says. "You could go for a role in a Jimmy Siska movie or some other crazy shit." 

A feeling akin to butterflies - or maybe it even are goddamn butterflies - shoots through Marcus' stomach then. Shoots through it as he watches Wrench take one hand away from his mask to hide a smile behind the back of his hand. Wrench is not quite fast enough so Marcus catches a glimpse of it, sees thin lips curl up and alluring eyes glaze over for just the tiniest bit before they close and open back up. Marcus hears a short laughter, so fleeting yet enticing that he wants to stop time before the noise is stifled by Wrench's damned hand. 

But those butterflies or whatever the fuck it is that Wrench's reaction might've set free inside of Marcus aren't soft; they're uncontrollable, violent almost. And the tingle in Marcus' hands becomes an itching, an itching he needs to still. And so he does, but not the way he's expected it. He's on autopilot when he takes Wrench's hand that covers his smile into his own hand and leans in, closer and closer, his heartbeat drumming heavier in his ears with every passing inch, Wrench's eyes widening simultaneously. 

When their lips finally meet though, Wrench doesn't flinch away. But the little jerk that Marcus feels going through the other's still cold hand is a sure indication that this isn't all right, not completely at least. The kiss is swift, fleeting almost, a prim meeting of lips against lips. Yet Wrench's pale cheeks have a hint of pinkish red on them when the two of them part and Marcus swears it's the loveliest color he's ever seen. 

Wrench gathers himself quickly though, catches his own lower lip between his teeth while his hand shakes free of Marcus' grasp, using all of his fingers to put his mask back on. Before it can even calibrate properly, Wrench gets up. 

"T-Thanks again," Wrench murmurs, "f-for the mask I mean, obviously, of course. What else, ha? I mean - ah, not that I didn't enjoy - ah, fucking piss," is all Wrench stutters before walking away in godspeed, never to be seen again. 

If Marcus didn't know better. 

 

* * *

 

Believe it or not, Wrench's brain is constantly going. It's why he's always talking, at least when the mask, his preferred face, is on. There's always something rummaging around inside of his head, be it plans to take down yet another insidious shitstain that calls itself a honest company or schematics for more toys. Toys to blow shit up with, of course. 

His constant thoughts are part of him, for better or worse. Wrench usually doesn't mind, not much. But in the past week his brain has been nothing but a nuisance, bothering him with thoughts about the one person he desperately tried to avoid for a couple of days. Marcus Holloway. Marcus. M. The dude who sneaked into an FBI hideout to get another important part of Wrench back, a part he chose for himself. His mask. But that's not what makes Wrench avoid Marcus like the gates of hell, it's the kiss they've shared. An interaction Wrench had thought about, unconsciously and to his own surprise, but never dared to set into reality. Human interactions weren't really his strong suit, even less so with his mask off. 

But it happened. And the seemingly infinite affection Wrench had built up towards Marcus in the past months rose to a new level. A level Wrench couldn't handle. Or fully comprehend. _Fucking wonderful_ , he thinks to himself and chose to do the only logical and _very_ mature thing for the past week; avoid being alone with Marcus. Or even near Marcus. 

And it worked. Kinda. Until now. Until Wrench takes unusually careful steps down the flight of stairs that lead to the Hackerspace, finding himself alone down there, in the middle of the day. And until he makes his way to the so-called Wrench Bench, in before he hears a way too familiar voice from behind him. 

"So," it resounds in the unusually quiet room, no music playing for once. It makes the surprised yelp filtered through Wrench's mask even louder. "Are we ever gonna talk about that kiss, or?"

It's Marcus. Of course it's Marcus. Wrench takes a deep breath and strolls over to the large corner sofa that's placed next to the stairs. He puts his arms on the backrest of the sofa, leaning over it and looking at Marcus, who's laying on the brown piece of furniture with a soft smile gracing his handsome features. _Cut the handsome_ , Wrench scolds himself and instead wonders how the fuck he did not see Marcus resting there. The other one is wearing red glasses and a hoodie with matching color, as well as black pants, loose and wide.

Wrench then realizes that he still owes Marcus an answer. "Well," he starts, his goggles displaying two equality signs, showing mild annoyance. "Since it's Tuesday it means we'll talk about it ... like, never?" 

A snarling chuckle coupled with a bright grin is Marcus' immediate reply. "Shit," he adds, still mildly laughing before catching himself, continuing with a more serious tone. "No, for real man, talk to me. I'm not stupid, in fact I happen to be pretty clever if I do say so myself. And I know when you, _especially you_ , are avoiding me." A slash and a backslash appear on Wrench's mask then, worried of what might follow. Fortunately or unfortunately enough, Marcus goes on. "Look, look, I really didn't mean anything with the kiss." Marcus groans then, one of his hands brushing through his short hair. "Scratch that, of course I meant something with it and it should be quite self-explanatory what I meant. What I'm saying is that if you don't want it to mean something, then I get it. 'Cause I get if it startled you or even freaked you out or some other shit. But like, fuck dude, I've enjoyed your company more than anyone else's in my life. In a way I still can't fully get into my damn head. And I don't wanna sound like a total idiot here, which I probably already am but - seeing your real face, hearing your real voice? It was just. Fuckin' A. I couldn't not, y'know, do what I did. But hey, if you just wanna forget it and don't want none of that sorta thing then I'm ... I'm not gonna say I'd be totally fine with it, but I can live with it." 

There it is again. Wrench's brain, kicking in. In another situation he would calculate variables and probabilities, go through possibilities and their outcome. But right here, right now, he just doesn't know enough so all his brain puts out is that Wrench should tell Marcus that he feels similar. And that he doesn't quite understand this indescribable amount of affection. "I'm - I wouldn't be fine either," Wrench begins and at signs flicker to life on his mask, confused by all of this. "Not in your shoes but in my own is what I mean. Like hell, I don't wanna lose you, ever, and I barely feel like this towards goddamn people." Still leaning over the back of the large sofa, Wrench starts to fidget around with his fingers, intertwines them over and over again. "Like, yes, I've been avoiding you because I was scared. Of what? I don't fucking know. Of sounding like an idiot as well, maybe. Or like a damn load of fucking ... fuckshit." Wrench groans at himself and has never been happier for the security of his mask. "What I wanna say here is that there's no one I'd rather, hm, I dunno, would love to do all sorta stupid shit with. If you told me we'd steal a car from Thruss and drive over goddamn puppies with it, hell yeah, I'd probably compliment you on your inventiveness and join in. Just because it's you. And because dogs are pure fuckin' evil, dude." A held-back chuckle from Marcus makes Wrench's heart skip a beat. Because there's also that familiar and captivating sparkle in Marcus' deep chestnut eyes that appears every now and then when they're together and it _kills_ Wrench. Kills him almost as much as the bright smile that follows a second later and it's like a _fucking gift_. A gift that gives Wrench the confidence to carry on with whatever he was saying. "What I'm trying to get at here is that I don't mind kissing you. Or any other shit. Most of it. As long as it's with you. 

So Marcus sits up, placing his left elbow on the backrest, next to Wrench's. "So, we're good? Like, very good?"

Two carets appear on Wrench's goggles and he feels like burying his heated face in his hands even though it's already hidden away. "Yeah, man. I mean, we always were. Just not in that kinda way, y'know," he says with an awkward little laughter. The warm smile from Marcus' side is even more affectionate than usually and it makes Wrench feels so much better about all of this, his eyes drawn to Marcus'. He wishes he could meet Marcus' fond gaze with his own, not obscured by modified goggles. He also wishes he wasn't so intimidated of the vulnerable feeling that comes with removing his mask. "Did you mean it," Wrench suddenly mumbles between gritted teeth, "I mean when you said you liked my voice. My face." 

"Shit dude, I've never lied to you. Why would I start _now_ , with something like that no fucking less?" 

Two hashtags appear on Wrench's mask and one of his hands reaches out for his mask, hesitating for a second there before taking it off, teeth immediately digging into his lower lip. "It's atrocious," Wrench grunts and blinks dumbly, eyes adjusting to the sudden clear vision and the influx of light. "Being without the mask I mean. Or maybe I meant my face. Not so fuckin' sure. Like," the fingers of Wrench's free hand slide over his nose, "from my childhood on people told me I got the devil's nose, the other kids in school telling me I was the devil's scrawny little brother." Wrench scoffs. His hand travels up to the conspicuous burn mark, frowning slightly. "Well and getting that thing later on in my life didn't help my self-confidence very fuckin' much either. And then there's -"

"Hey," Marcus interrupts Wrench, his voice a little deeper and more intrusive than usually. And Wrench pauses, not sure if it's the other's interjection or Marcus' left hand that slowly closes in on him. And Wrench flinches for a heartbeat there when calloused and warm fingertips are against his right cheek. "Sorry - I keep doing this shit on impulse. But even if you don't like looking at yourself or if you think these other motherfuckers don't like looking at you or are even mocking you - just know that I do like looking at you. Like, really. Really really."

Something about Marcus' words leave Wrench puzzled, even more so than he already is. Maybe it's the honesty but when wasn't Marcus ever honest to him? So instead it may be the fact that someone actually cares about him and likes him for who he is and gives him confidence in himself and the way he looks, without mask no less. Others didn't do that. Had no reason to because Wrench didn't give them a reason. Around other people he wasn't vulnerable and truthful like this because there was no trust. Not like with Marcus. Around other people he was just this weirdo, as Sitara loved to introduce him. An anarchist with an affinity for spikes and weird-looking guns and explosions, who hides his feelings and problems behind a freaky mask and obscene jokes. Somehow all the things, no matter how small or big, that Marcus has given and done for Wrench are enough for him to put his anxiety and insecurities to a halt, tells his brain to shut the fuck up. Of course it doesn't work, it never does, especially not when he puts his mask onto the backrest of the couch to have free hands. And then he thinks _fuck this fucking shit_ and is careful with his spiked wristband as he places his free hands on either side of Marcus' face, closes his eyes almost violently and covers the other's lips with his own. 

And the press of Wrench's lips is so hesitant that he feels like slapping himself, especially when Marcus responds with fierce insistence instead. And somehow it all works out to turn the kiss into something lazy and messy and indescribably beautiful. It's a kiss neither of the two wants to end, especially not when Wrench finds the willpower to flick his tongue over Marcus' bottom lip, his nerve endings tingling like nobody's business. The feeling overtakes him, enough so to climb over the back of the couch with a set destiny. A destiny that seems oh so inappropriate when the sound of the door code being punched into the keypad fills Wrench's ears. And apparently Marcus hears it as well, both of them opening their eyes simultaneously and in panic. Just before Wrench ungracefully loses balance and topples past his destiny - that, by the way, was Marcus' lap - and onto the ground instead. Their kiss breaks, obviously, and Wrench scrambles to get up from the floor and back onto the couch, climbing onto the free spot and swiftly putting his mask back on.

All Marcus does while Wrench's mask is calibrating is break out into a fit of laughter, clapping his hands in amusement like one of the seals at the harbor would. And Wrench can't help but to laugh along, their voices echoing through the room. "So, what kinda party is going on here?" a light voice comes from the stairs and both Marcus and Wrench look in its direction, watching Sitara and Horatio arrive. 

"Sorry girl, but you missed the best part of it," Marcus chuckles. 

Wrench agrees with a whooping sound while getting up. "Fuckin' right, M," he says, his mask displaying a caret and a tilde, winking. His hand grabs Marcus' wrist, forces him to stand up as well. "Let's go grab some food, the party got me all hungry." 

 

* * *

 

A few hours later and the day has turned into an early and apparently very busy Tuesday night in San Francisco. Busy enough for the guys at the pizza place not to ask (too many) questions about Wrench's mask this time around, busy enough for Wrench and Marcus to hijack a crane unnoticed and get on top of one of the larger buildings in the middle of the city. Luckily the roof is empty safe for a vent or two that are fairly silent. The ground up there is black and flat and Marcus is quite happy about that. He undresses his red hoodie, leaving him in a black shirt with the DedSec logo on it. Without thinking about it much further Marcus lays down, using his hoodie as a pillow. Next to him are the still steaming hot pizza, two cold beers and his - friend. Boyfriend. _Whatever_.

But despite Marcus and Wrench talking about how pineapple pizza is the fucking best and despite having yet another discussion about whichever Star Wars character is the most badass on their way up there, Wrench is still somewhat tense. And now he sits close to Marcus, his knees pulled towards his chest, arms around them and squeezing tightly. "You okay over there, man?" Marcus finally asks.

Wrench, mask still on and with question marks displayed on them, turns to Marcus. "Yeah, it's just," he hesitates to go on for a few moments there, the traffic from below as well as a couple of police sirens overshadowing what would otherwise be awkward silence. "my thoughts are racin'. Lotsa shit to think about. Wish I could just like, turn 'em off and stuff pizza into me and kiss you some more but y'know, not all that easy."

An awkward laugh comes from Wrench, joined by a soft sigh from Marcus' side, who takes one of the bottles as well as a slice of pizza. "How about you start by drinkin' some. Maybe it'll make your brain calm down."

The fast yet still uncomfortable procedure of taking his mask off is what Wrench does next, carefully placing it next to him. He grabs the other beer bottle Marcus had opened earlier then and settles it onto his lips, keeping it there for a generous amount of time. His hand reaches out for the pizza, its box standing between him and Marcus. And somewhere in between taking a bite Wrench thinks that _hey, it's not so bad to eat and drink without holding my mask up_. "Y'know," Wrench mumbles, organic voice coupled with a full mouth. "my parents wanted me to work at one of those fuckin' companies." Wrench's left hand sets down the bottle, gesturing at the lit skyscrapers reaching into the slowly darkening sky. "But I never wanted that or my mom's elitist bullcrap or my dad's occasional beatings to discipline me into doing something, _pft_ , meaningful with my life. They haven't looked at me with their fucking asses since I got this and moved the fuck away from them."

Marcus observes with the bottle of beer pressed to his mouth and a sideways glance how Wrench's free hand slides down his throat, to the anarchy sign permanently remaining there. All he can focus on, however, is Wrench's Adam's apple that moves as he swallows, as well as the two tiny beauty marks on his neck that follow the small but captivating movement. The longing to run his lips over the teeny spots overcomes Marcus but he shakes the thought off immediately. Instead, he clears his throat and speaks up. "Sorry to hear that. I can't quite understand what you've been through, man. My parents were never like that. Luckily. All they ever wanted from me was being an honest black man and well, me being identified by ctOS's fuckery as a high profile criminal sure as hell didn't help. I was falsely accused as you know but hey, try fucking telling that people, especially when you're black. So ya, I moved the fuck away from all the bullshit and took these fake jobs. Great resume I got there, I tell ya." 

His flat joke earns Marcus a small laughter from Wrench's side - who knows all about his numerous fake careers and who sits much more relaxed now, pizza and beer in either hand. "Well, one fucked up and judgemental society we got there. Pisses me off, man. They'd probably rather arrest you than me. I got anarchy literally written on me but hey, you are black." 

"Fucked up indeed." 

The two of them throw in a few more stories on how the system has fucked up their lives before Marcus tells the horrible joke Horatio had told him when they were infiltrating Nudle. Wrench gives it a good laugh, hidden behind his hand once more to which Marcus frowns softly, feeling guilty for hating on that hand all the same. They stay silent for a while then, safe for the occasional chewing or drinking sound as well as the noisy night life of San Francisco above and below them. And of course, some of Wrench's infamous burps. 

"So," Marcus starts, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "What happened to the girl from the coffee shop?"

Wrench's brightly colored eyes blink a few times, looking at Marcus before averting their gaze again. A deep breath leaves through his nose. "As I said, she got her shit together. I don't. And well, that's not the only difference between us. Big difference. Like, not Death Star big more like Starkiller Base big." They both chuckle at that. "Besides I was never really interested in her in a, y'know," Wrench gestures wildly with his hands, almost losing grasp on his empty beer bottle. "- uh, way men are usually interested in women. I mean she's cute and pretty and all but she's not a dildo-shaped gun or an oversized sledgehammer. Something really fuckin' dope and extraordinary. Like, like, for example you? You're a human and yet you're dope as fuck. And not just dope. You're smart and almost as funny as I am, which, woah, is a huge compliment and even though you dress like a hipster who did a wrong turn at hip-hop-land you're ... dope. Extraordinarily dope." 

"Aw man, comparing me to a gun and a hammer? That's probably the most fucked-up yet sweetest compliment I've ever gotten. So swell of you," Marcus replies with a wide grin, the one that _kills_ Wrench. 

"Did you for fucking real just call me swell?" Wrench asks and carelessly tosses the empty bottle aside, crawling over to Marcus on all fours, going as far as to straddle the other's lap. "That's so hipster of you." 

This time around it's Marcus who bites down on his lower lip. "Sweet mother of all that is good and pure, I don't wanna question you here man," Marcus grunts out, unable to resist the temptation of eyeing Wrench up and down. "but what are you - we - gonna do here? And more importantly, are you sure about this? I mean, you ran away from a kiss."

A crooked half-smile appears on Wrench's face, eyes tinged in an otherworldly cyan color. "Our party got interrupted earlier, didn't it? Kinda wanna continue it now. I'm not drunk. Not much. But ... fuck, Marcus, I just. Really like you. Really trust you, too. I've never trusted anyone like this, not a person, not a damn puppy and most of all not a fucking whale. So, yeah, I'm pretty sure about this."

"Your speeches are almost as beautiful as your compliments," Marcus simply jokes. 

"Shut the fuck and kiss me you nerd," Wrench whispers while placing his fingers on Marcus' neck and jawline. And Marcus feels their presence more intense this time, feels how they're warm and the fingertips slightly calloused, feels how they're lightly shaking, feels how Wrench's thumbs are rubbing small circles into his cheeks. 

And then Wrench's whole body leans closer, chest against chest, forehead against forehead before - "Ow."

"W-What?!" Wrench almost shouts, momentarily stressed by the small sound of discomfort Marcus released. 

"Can you take off your vest? It's -"

"Woah there, casanova."

To which Marcus groans. "Not funny. Well maybe a bit. But your damn spikes are hurtin' me, you little shit." 

"Got it, pansy. Let me take something hindering of yours off in return," Wrench says as he slips out of his with memes and spikes decorated vest, tossing it aside without a care. The next movements are more cautious, fingers taking the rims of Marcus' red glasses and placing them on his vest. 

A sincere smile plays around Marcus' lips, which Wrench only dares to return halfway. He's trying to forget that he's without his mask and that it's alright to show his _real_ face to Marcus, to show him emotions, to show him a smile. But it's not that easy because the thoughts in his head are racing almost as fast as his heart. And his heartbeat speeds up even more when he feels Marcus' hands on his hips, flinching with surprise for a second there. "Is ... that okay?" Marcus asks, voice soft and low. All Wrench does is give a few small nods, own voice stuck in his throat. "Is this okay as well?" 

Marcus' hands are slow as they move beneath Wrench's hoodie, warm fingers hovering over the skin there before they are ultimately placed on the bare flesh of Wrench's hips. A little hum of obvious approval escapes Wrench and he closes his eyes, both out of embarrassment and to take in the other man's large hands on his body. Said hands start to move up and down and it feels like they're teasing Wrench to hell and back as he tries to tone down the sounds that are desperate to escape him. _Jesus fucking Christ, has it really been this freaking long?_

There are a lot of things capturing Marcus' unshared attention as of right now, the little although muffled sounds leaving Wrench's mouth, the way he swallows, Adam's apple traveling over the two beauty marks once more, all the way down to the first lines of the anarchy sign. Of course it doesn't help Marcus to feel Wrench's skin beneath his fingertips, hot and growing even hotter. The tip of the iceberg is Wrench's lean form though, even more obvious now that the vest is gone. Marcus has seen part of the other's body naked already so it's no surprise to him that Wrench is this skinny. But up close and very personal he looks almost fragile. 

Marcus is pulled out of his thoughts when a mouth is suddenly pressing against his and a body crowding so impossibly close to his own that Marcus digs his greedy hands into Wrench's hips, earning a low moan from the other. The two of them then continue what Sitara and Horatio interrupted earlier. Small kisses, soft and lazy, grow longer and faster, more open-mouthed and impetuous. Tongues intertwine and all sounds that remain in both of their ears are the noises they make, humming and groaning like teenagers in heat. 

The kiss continues without either of them holding back, doubts hidden in a deep hole now that Wrench sucks on Marcus' bottom lip, rolls his hips back and forth unconsciously. He feels like a mess, even more so when Marcus' hands roam from his hips to his back, seemingly all over it. And then something happens, like electricity sparking over in the air. Wrench is suddenly hyper-aware of his movements, the way he rubs his crotch against Marcus' and creates that sweet friction that makes both of them gasp into each other's mouth over and over again. The knot in Wrench's stomach quiets down just a little then, when Marcus' hands leave his body only for his fingers to go under Wrench's hood, fingers intertwining in the hair hidden there.

It's with soft but decisive force that Marcus parts their faces, their gazes meeting as pairs of eyes flicker back open. The two of them are busy catching the air they need oh so badly, a smirk playing around Marcus' lips. "Can I ...?" he asks breathlessly, the hesitation in his voice not matching the almost cocky expression. Wrench just gives him a questioning look, fairly thick eyebrows knitted together. "Touch you. I mean, fuck. Down there. Pants open 'n all." 

Marcus watches Wrench's face from below, closely. The other one opens his mouth at the question but stays silent. It gives Marcus time to take in the picture presented to him, Wrench's pallor tinged into a deep flush, spread and glistening lips swollen and reddened from all the kissing while those lightly colored eyes are glazed over when Wrench finally answers. "Stop fuckin' asking about everything. I mean ... I appreciate it but -. Just do it. Do what you gotta do. What you wanna do. 'Cause I'm pretty fuckin' sure I want it as well." 

"Well, just not very thrilled to have you run off or avoid me for another week, ya know." 

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Wrench jokes back and earns an amused huff from Marcus. He takes the hint and moves his hands away from Wrench's face, using the right one to start working on Wrench's fly while the left one cups Wrench's cock through his torn jeans, rubbing it attentively before leaving it with an upward stroke. The long moan that leaves Wrench's mouth is confirmation enough to Marcus that the other is enjoying this and also enough fuel for Marcus to feel bold. He sits up just enough so that his mouth can reach Wrench's neck, giving the flushed skin and the two little beauty spots there a few light bites before kissing all of it gently. What follows is a sharp exhale from Wrench as well as his hands wandering to Marcus' shoulders, clinging onto them. A sharp _fuck_ from Wrench follows when Marcus gets to the point of having Wrench's pants open. He slowly pulls them and the red boxershorts underneath below the crook of Wrench's perky and fairly small ass, exposing a couple of pentagram tattoos on his side as well as something much more interesting. 

Namely Wrench's cock, half-hard and flushed. Marcus wraps his hand around him, stroking him carefully and in full contact with the palm of his hand, caressing him into full hardness. And Marcus can't help but to look up from Wrench's neck and towards the other's face, eyebrows furrowed and eyes half-lidded, looking down to meet Marcus' gaze. A warm shudder rolls over Marcus' back and he feels his own cock swelling, tenting in the confines of his pants. And then it's his turn to release a shameless moan, Wrench's hands returning the favor, coaxing Marcus' cock into a fully erect state through several layers of cotton. 

Wrench's fingers find the waistband of Marcus' loose pants then, happy that Marcus isn't wearing his damned tight hipster jeans today. A couple of moments pass before Wrench drags Marcus' pants and underwear down, exposing a thick cock bedded in a nest of black curls. And Wrench simply stares at it for a couple of heartbeats - cause Marcus' cock is quite something. 

One of Marcus' hands then cups Wrench's chin and tilts his head so that they're eye to eye, Wrench trying his hardest not to avert his gaze, blinking dumbfoundedly. A grin stretches across Marcus' face in return, his other hand reaching between both of their bodies and aligning his cock with Wrench's, creating much needed friction. The shudder that ebbs through Wrench's body is almost as demanding as the noises that leave the both of them. 

"Told me to do what I wanted," Marcus sighs with a shaky breath, pressing his mouth up against Wrench's who hums appreciatively, lets both of his hands wrap around Marcus' hand and their cocks. And Wrench copies the rhythm, sloppy and impatient. His hips jerk helplessly under the first few strokes, head starting to swim while contempt moans and sighs spill out of him and interrupt the kiss every now and then to take a breather. 

The picture of Wrench right in front of him, softly writhing and gasping from just feeling their cocks move against each other is enough for Marcus to tighten his grip around both of them. Sensation runs through him like lightning and Wrench's upper body arches against his own, chest against chest, groin pressed flush against groin with their cocks squeezed between their clothed stomachs and working hands. The several rolls of Marcus' pelvis become more intense but still controlled. Unlike Wrench, whose hips are bucking upwards urgently. And then Marcus feels that the other is already leaking, thrusting erratically into the tightness their hands are creating. 

"Fuck," Marcus curses and feels like melting away, even more so when Wrench looks at him with half-lidded eyes, trembling in his lap and grinding into him. His hand that is still on Wrench's chin lets go off it, finding it's way around Wrench and onto his back, caressing over it with slow and tantalizing strokes. 

Wrench can't quite hold Marcus' gaze anymore, the other's deep brown eyes hungry and blazing with desire. So he hides his face in the crook of Marcus' neck, taking in his scent while drowning out the whimpers that just won't stop anymore. And then it feels like pleasure itself punches him into his gut and the hot slide of skin against skin becomes too much. He spills into his and Marcus' hand, his head almost as much of a mess as his body. 

And Marcus follows short, the comfortable weight in his lap and the sticky heat on his head leaving nothing to his imagination. A spasm makes its way through his body, eyes half-lidded and looking over to Wrench's hunched-over form as he releases. 

Close to being breathless and with Wrench almost unmoving on top of him, Marcus' upper body drops back onto the rooftop's ground, thankful for his red hoodie acting as a pillow. All the noises from San Francisco suddenly fill his ears again, traffic and people alike. And yet the most distinct sound is Wrench's heavy breathing, loud and clear in his neck. "You good?" Marcus asks, chuckling inwardly at the situation while his unsoiled hand is still softly caressing over Wrench's back. 

"Ya," Wrench mumbles. "I kinda don't wanna move if that's alright with you."

"I mean, we're kinda sticky and messy as fuck but I can see your naked ass from here, so I guess it's all good." 

Wrench takes a deep breath then, reappearing from the crook of Marcus' neck to face the other. "You're the worst." 

"And you're the best," Marcus returns. 

It's not the first time Marcus tells Wrench this but it seems so much different. Different enough for Wrench to unconsciously smile, a big and genuine one, and this time around he has no hand to help him cover it up, both of them tiredly hanging on his side. Wrench only notices his allegedly fault when Marcus' eyes as well as his smile widen. "My god, you are pretty." 

Wrench bites down on his bottom lip then, holding back another smile that he only lets out once his face is buried in the security of Marcus' broad shoulder again.

"I told you to shut up, M."


End file.
